


Purpose

by Cameron_McKell



Series: Antivirus and Related Works [46]
Category: Tron (1982), Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Betrayal
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cameron_McKell/pseuds/Cameron_McKell
Summary: Things are getting worse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags.

            “Mass transit is lagging 34.12% in the Iota Sector sublevels,” Shaddox reported mildly, then handed over the detailed report to Clu, who scanned through it with his usual efficiency.

 

            “Redirect low priority traffic around the sector until alternate roadways are rezzed; also, offset the priority of new developments, relative to reconstruction and replacement.” Clu handed the report back, with the addition of the traffic redirection charts. Shaddox stood still only as long as it took him to glance at the chart then nod at Clu, before he was gone again.

 

            The backlog of construction/repair got longer every cycle.

 

            Clu turned, heading for the far wall and the bottle of energy he'd stashed there – it had been a _long_ decicycle since he'd had a moment to cycle down into sleep mode – when he registered light where it shouldn't be.

 

            Program circuitry, in a familiar shape.

 

            “You're not due to report in for another centicycle at least, Tron,” he observed on his way to grab drinks for the both of them, tone welcoming despite the content of the message.

 

            “Yes, I'm aware of that,” Tron replied, stepping out of the corner he'd been waiting in; something about his tone didn't add up, but Clu didn't have enough information to determine what yet. “But...”

 

            Clu paused in the process of pouring the drinks, a full warning alert popping up in his processes now; Tron wasn't a program prone to spewing out junk audio, or leaving a message incomplete. Following this conclusion, Clu scanned him – he didn't get data like the monitors, but it was still comprehensive – and frowned at the results. “What happened?”

 

            Tron shifted his center of mass, and refused to maintain visual contact. “I’m fine.”

 

            Clu began running projections of hypothetical situations, gulping down his drink in one go to get him running back within proper tolerances, and promptly registered the texture-mapping discrepancies typical of patch jobs over his friend's extremities, “She attacked you?”

 

            For the first time during their exchange Tron _looked_ at Clu, with all his usual fierce loyalty ready to deny even the _possibility_ of such a thing, but he didn't. He _couldn't,_ Clu concluded; the system administrator ached down to his root code in that microcycle.

 

            “She's glitching; that's all,” Tron mumbled eventually; misinterpreting Clu's silence for disagreement, or possibly condemnation, he rushed to speak on. “She doesn't calculate what she's doing.”

 

            “Tron –”

 

            “My purpose in coming here,” Tron interrupted him, taking a step back and trying to conceal one of the texture glitches on his arm with his hand, as if it might cease to exist once obscured from their visual inputs, “was to receive an estimated time of construction for the Simulation Dockyards.”

            “Inconclusive,” Clu replied, averting his gaze. He experienced… an unusual amount of difficulty telling this to Tron, especially while maintaining visual contact. “The entire Grid infrastructure is becoming unstable; Flynn needs to address this, and at-present 33 other critical concerns before we can attempt to locate another site for Simulations.”

 

            Clu hazarded a look in Tron’s general direction; he seemed frozen on the verge of arguing with the sysadmin, until he eventually closed his audio output with excessive force, and straightened out his entire frame. “I understand.”

 

            Clu reviewed the file of remaining User curses he’d retained, only not vocally expressing any because he could not determine the perfect target for his ire. Flynn, for becoming so sidetracked from the various issues the Grid was having, _her_ for doing this to his best friend just because she was currently without purpose, or Tron himself for allowing this to happen and _still_ remaining with _her_ when he had an important function to fill.

 

            As was standard procedure, he shoved the anger and resentment down his priority list, instead catching Tron around the shoulders with his arm, pulling him close as he walked back toward the bottle of energy. There was a chair nearby – perfect.

 

            “Come on, Tron – sit and recharge while I smooth out those glitches for you, at least.”

 

            “You have more important projects queued up, than –”

 

            “Just sit down,” he said, pushing the security monitor down into the chair, handing over the whole bottle. “Arguing is inefficient – it will take more time than the fix itself. Relax, and just enjoy yourself for a micro.”

 

            Tron wordlessly relented, bringing the bottle to his lips as Clu lightly trailed a hand over Tron’s disk before pulling it free.

 

            “I’ll fix everything.”


End file.
